They Can Smell Blood
by Uurrusistabul
Summary: A Noncon/Rape fic requested by anon. Fin/Droog/Trace Readers be cautioned. I may follow up on it I like the idea of Fin and Trace being pretty brutal with Droog but still showing misplaced aftercare.


Fin pinned the ebony gangster underneath him, pounding into him mercilessly. Trace watched, amused, cock in hand. Droog bit back growls of pain as the larger man atop him cupped his ass in a green, felt hand. "We've got about an hour until your boys found out you're gone. How's about we get this over with nice and quick and you can go back to your shit attempts to kill our gang members?" Droog said nothing as he attempted, one last time, to buck the sharkman off of him. Fin only pressed harder. "Look, Diamonds, we can do this easy or we can fuck you until that pretty carapace of yours cracks."

Trace shivered, thumbing the tip of his green cock. Fin hadn't even started yet but seeing Droog pinned down on the concrete of the hideout's basement floor was just so enticing. Fi turned. "You just gonna fuckin' watch?" Trace shrugged, another swipe of his thumb. "Might hafta join in. Have yer fun for now, kid." Fin grabbed Droog by his tie, which had been twisted into some sort of sick noose. Yanking backwards, Fin snatched the once prideful mobster's head back, and smashed his snaggletooth mouth onto his. Droog attempted to bite down but Fin only took it as a challenge, biting back harder.

The mewl that escaped Droog was undignified and the usually cool and collected man only struggled more, though the binds on his wrists and ankles kept him immobile. "I guess we're doing this until you break, then, huh Droog?" Droog sneered. "Piss off you faggots," he snapped, baritone voice laced with venom. Fin smashed the mobster's face into the cement, cracking his carapace slightly. "Who's the one getting fucked in the ass here?" Droog reeled when he felt the familiar bulking in Fin's pants.

Trace was laughing now, getting to his feet. Fin, who was removing Droog's pants and boxers in a rushed and unflattering way, cocked a toothy grin. "About damn time, I thought you were keen on just watching?" Trace stood in front of Fin, gesturing for him to raise Droog. "I'm not getting this little bitch anywhere near my mouth unless you plan on gagging him." Trace rolled his eyes. "Always somethin' witchu," he mumbled, yanking Droog's tie from his neck and out of Fin's grasp. Droog struggled more. "Don't you fucking dare I'll have you know I paid good money for that-" Muffled complaints and death threats were all that followed.

"Finally," Trace grinned, fishing out Fin's cock. The sharklike man shivered, biting his lower lip as Trace worked him. "Nng, fuck…fuck, Trace…." Droog stared wide eyed as Fin was pumped into full arousal, terror plain on his face despite his best efforts. "Droog, it ain't polite to stare," Trace mumbled, voice thick. Fin smirked, making louder sounds and rubbing Droog through the fabric of his pants. Droog strained against his binds, trying his hardest to break free but to no avail. His struggles only made Fin press harder and Trace groaned in his ear as Droog's ass ground against his free cock.

Sandwiched between two Felt members, Droog could do nothing but scream into his gag as they entered him, first Trace then Fin, with not form of lubrication. The sounds of strained and cracking carapace filled the dusty, empty basement, singing out with the groans and pants of the two men pounding into the Midnight Crew member between them. Droog, despite his best efforts, choked on sobs and pleas for them to stop; sobs and pleas that were contained by his favorite tie. But that was nothing to the pain and shame he felt when he asked them to keep going. To never stop when the pain was nothing but a dull memory and they tore arousal from his body.

Droog wasn't sure they heard him but when his cock grew to full arousal and his hips move involuntarily with theirs and he threw back his head in ecstasy, he was sure they got a hint. The two Felt grunted and pushed him, beyond the brink, easing themselves inside of his broken body before releasing in unison. He wasn't sure what was worse; the laughter or the brief moment of fading intimacy he felt when they reached climax. He wasn't sure what Fin had whispered into his ear and he wasn't sure why but he was consoled. Droog wasn't sure when they left, either.

They left him down there, for ten minutes, before his crew arrived. He would arise and limp to the car. He would smoke at least three packs on the way back home and, in the solitude of his own shower, weep and lick is wounds in solitude.


End file.
